Needs Unmet
by Lovecraft
Summary: Two lives bound together in ways they have yet to understand. Short vignettes. Slashy thoughts and deeds. HP/SS
1. Craving (To Touch, To Taste)

Author name: Lovecraft   
Author email: starlightstrands@hotmail.com  
Category: Slash: Severus/Harry  
Keywords: Masterbation, Voyuerism  
Rating: Hard R, Soft NC-17.  
Spoilers: None, really. Although it'd help to know the books, just for character reference. *rae*  
Summary: A Gryffindor watches his Professor.   
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, and if I did, they'd never leave the bedroom/bathroom (with two-person bathtub, thank-you-very-much).  
  
Archive: Anyone who wants it can have it, so long as I'm informed and my email is listed somewhere.  
  
A/N: Hi. This is my first Potter fic. Pleasedon'trunaway! o.o I'd be very happy if someone read this, liked it, and responded. Positively would be wonderful. Something other than "sparse" would be perfect.  
  
~*~  
  
  
Craving (Your Touch, Your Taste)  
  
  
~*~  
  
  
It's nothing I should know. It's everything I want. It's perfect.   
  
It's the warm candlelight playing over his so-thin body. It's the shadows that cradle him. It's the way his fingertips brush his own lips, feather-light, a mirror image of the kisses I'd lay upon them.   
  
But he doesn't know I'm here, covered and warm beneath the cloak, silent as only a mouse that has lived his life in fear of punishment can be. He doesn't see what I see, the sallow skin faded into gold and the lithe body spread open to welcome the room's warmth. He can't possibly understand how the subtle caress of his finely tapered fingers against his pale nipple entices me.   
  
His body shifts, a knee rises so that one slender foot is braced on the firm bed beneath him. His arousal is like his body, long and sleek and so beautiful I could fall to my knees and worship it, with my hands, or tongue, or...  
  
I ache in tandem with my heartbeat as his fingers slip between his legs and touch the flushed hardness. His moan echoes against the stones of the room and I bite my lip to keep my own moans from singing back. Black eyes narrow as the copper glows in his cheeks. He stares into space, where his dreams fly, with such passion and I want nothing more than to have that intense gaze turned onto me. But I know better than to betray my presence in this shadow. Not even a little Gryffindor like me could be that brave.   
  
A low-pitched groan rumbles into the air and rushes through me, touching, exciting parts of me already over stimulated. A loose fist steadily pumps at his cock, the braced leg flexes as narrow hips rise in controlled, short, thrusts. How would it feel to be above him, to surround him, to feel his flesh rising to meet mine? To be trapped by that wanton look, to feel the silken heat of his skin, to taste his breath and lips?  
  
Muscles tense, his writhing body holds still save for the hand jerking without rhyme, whose only reason is release. Head thrown back, caught in the awesome cusp between the pleasure of climax and the pain of such wonder ending. And all I have is this desire to touch him, mark him as mine, and know with him inside and out, despite the sneering, caustic remarks, despite the sarcastic rebuttal, because I see him here, like this, defenseless in his vulnerability and beautiful in his skin.   
  
Perfect. So perfect. Right here and now, he is my everything, my entire world. But I am invisible to his eyes. I am nothing. 


	2. The Scent of Loneliness

Author name: Lovecraft   
Author email: starlightstrands@hotmail.com  
Category: Slash: Severus/Harry  
Keywords: Angst, First-Kiss  
Rating: Hard R.  
Spoilers: None, really. Although it'd help to know the books, just for character reference. *rae*  
Summary: The Professor comes to a few realizations.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. But damn, it'd be lovely if I did. Oh, the things I'd do.  
  
Series Title: Needs Unmet  
  
  
~*~  
  
The Scent of Loneliness  
  
~*~  
  
  
Scent has always been of great importance in my life. When I work with my potions, I know by the smell of freshly cut lavender that the pepper-up potion is only one step from needing to be cooled. When the scent of burnt raspberries wafts up, then the drought for pleasant dreams is ready to be bottled. I have always had a keen sense of smell.  
  
That is why I'm so startled when I move to check on the work Potter's been doing for his detention. Freshly-turned earth is the scent that eminates from him, as though he'd just returned from the Quidditch field. Also the scent of those few minutes just before a rain fall, the wildness of the wind, and the electricity in the air.   
  
One breath and my arousal immediately begins to awaken; I loathe my inability to control it. It's such a familiar scent I suppose it's become a sort of ringing bell to that muggle Pavlov's dogs. I close my eyes in an attempt to calm myself, but behind my eyelids I can see the dark halls that lead to a cleverly disguised room where the scent of lightning and rain about to break is ever-present. A slow burn of anticipation begins in my stomach and I quickly open my eyes. I meet jade (jaded?) green eyes and wish, for my own sanity, that I had kept my eyes closed.   
  
"You've been watching me." I can't gather my wits together enough to inject anger or sarcasm or even righteous indignation. Perhaps I'm in shock? The shock of knowledge, certainly. For two years I have sought out the abandoned room for it's solitude and peace. For two years I have gone there to relieve the tensions that could have been fulfilled by a lover, had I been willing to accept another. "You followed me in and you were *watching* me..."  
  
He blushes now, the color like a cherry blossom, delicate pink on cream. "The first time was an accident. I was there first, I got lost when one of the stairs switched around on me, then you came in and..." The delicate blush darkens, I'm entranced.   
  
"I never saw you. Do you normally wear your invisibility cloak when wandering the school?" Finally, my own cloak of menace and anger emerges.  
  
"It was after hours," I knew that, of course. Anytime I went to the room was after hours. "I was doing some last minute studying in the library and I fell asleep." His lips quirk up in a semi-smile, his tone becomes wry. "Studying for a potions paper, if you'll believe it."  
  
I feel my own lips pull back into a sneer, or perhaps a snarl if the boy's reaction says anything. His eyes widen and his pupils dilate. "So you decided to stay and watch, and in fact, decided to continue following me. Any particular reason, Potter? Or did you just want to humiliate me?"  
  
His face settles into a look that somehow manages to convey pity and stubborness. "If I had been looking to humiliate you, I could have done so at any time during the past two years."   
  
"Then *why*?"  
  
He sighs and presses his hands against his eyes, suddenly looking tired. "You were beautiful, Snape. You looked so achingly fragile but so strong, and so very alone." Alone, yes. I was, am, definately alone. "I wanted, I don't know, I wanted you to know I was there. I wanted you to know that you weren't alone and you were *desired*." He laughs when he looks at me, the sound, usually so joyous and pleased, like broken glass. "But you would never look at me, like that. Never me." Never anyone, in all the years since before my betrayal of Voldemort. I couldn't risk someone's life for just a few moments of pleasure.  
  
My mind screams at me to retreat, my body refuses to listen. It's in shock and my thoughts are whirling. I've dealt with school crushes before, not often, but often enough. Degrade him, snarl at him, tell him he's right, that you would never look at him, he's just a child. But he's not, hasn't been a boy since he defeated Voldemort, regardless of the number of years he's lived, and the offer of an end to the loneliness is more appealing than I had ever realised.  
  
I say nothing. My hands clench at my sides and my mouth opens as though to speak, but the silence stretches on. Finally, cheeks still rose-colored, he steps up and presses against my body. I should step back, break contact, do something. He kisses me, so soft and sweet. I melt down against him with a sound suspiciously like a sob.   
  
His hands cradle my face as he kisses me again. It's not innocent, but it is inexperienced. It's so warm and it deepens until I can taste him on my tongue, feel his heartbeat on my lips. I should go, he's a *student*. My hands grasp at his waist and hold tight, perhaps too tight; he whimpers, but doesn't shake loose.   
  
Sweetened lemon. He tastes of sweetened lemon. Perhaps a candy or a treat from the house elves. It's so hot inside his mouth and he's devouring me. I'm going to burn forever for what I'm doing right here, right now, but it's so sweet. I should stop, I should tell him we can't, that I'm too old, that he's just started in this world, that he's finally got his freedom. In a few months he'll graduate and never come back to Hogwarts again, but I'll be left here, alone and cold and aching for this so-sweet warmth.  
  
When we finally part I find myself panting, reeling. My lips tingle and I want nothing more than to fall back into his embrace and drink the heat from his body.   
  
I gather my courage and run. 


	3. Safe, Saved

Author name: Lovecraft   
Author email: starlightstrands@hotmail.com  
Category: Slash: Severus/Harry  
Keywords: Angst, Second-Kiss  
Rating: Hard R.  
Spoilers: None, really. Although it'd help to know the books, just for character reference. *rae*  
Summary: A return to familiar places and a reversal of roles.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. If I did, they'd appear more in leather. Or nothing at all.  
  
Series Title: Needs Unmet  
  
~*~  
  
Safe, Saved  
  
~*~  
  
It was a month and a half before I, at last, returned to the secluded rooms that had become my downfall. Shame kept me away as well as a healthy dose of embarrassment. A student had caught me in a private moment, in an incredibly compromising position several times over! I should have fallen like the wrath of harpies upon the boy. Instead, I ignored Potter as much as possible and for once in his academic career, Harry Potter cooperated.   
  
In class, he was quiet, polite, studious, and actually followed directions. Potter gave me no reason to berate him, for which I was more relieved than I cared to admit. It meant that I wouldn't have to talk to him, have him answer back, or look directly into those ever-green eyes. Unfortunately, it was such a dramatic change from the boisterous boy that he'd been that his friend, the insufferable Mr. Weasley, took to watching him with not-so-covert worried looks. For a while, Ms. Granger seemed pleased, but when she too started casting those frightened "Are you okay?" glances, I knew something had to be off.   
  
I learned at breakfast one morning that Potter's grades were slipping in every class save mine. Gossip was passed amongst the staff that he was losing weight and not sleeping. Popular theory was that he'd had his heart broken by some as yet unnamed girl. Something inside me came undone at the idea. By all accounts, he was haunting the hallways like a new Hogwarts ghost, and it was all my fault.  
  
The idea enraged me further. Why should I feel guilt at what the little twit did? *He* spied on *me*. My conscience spoke out in a voice not unlike Dumbledore. 'He desired you as you desired him.'   
  
And there was the crux of it. To keep the boy safe, I may have broken him. Unfortunately, he was quite possibly the only thing in this grief-stricken world that could have healed the desecrated man I had become.   
  
So I tried to find him, to talk to him. Maybe if I made him angry, made him hate me enough to forget about whatever loss he considered me and move on with his life. The thought sickened me, but it had potential.   
  
And that was how I found myself slipping shadow-like down the dark dungeon corridors to the hidden rooms of one Tesaine Tormet, a head of Slytherin dead more than two centuries. The rooms I'd become so comfortingly familiar with. The room had once meant sanctuary to me, before I found out a student had followed me.  
  
I was simply told by the Bloody Baron that Potter had been sneaking through the dungeon. I don't know what I expected to find, but what I met upon opening the door wasn't it. A hitched, desperate cry rent the air and, gazing upon the bed, I saw only skin, sin, cream, and crystal.   
  
I was standing beside him before I realized I had moved. He was sobbing on the bed, one arm strewn over his eyes in an ineffectual effort to hide his shiny tears. They glittered like glass down his *sharp*, *shadowed* cheeks. His free hand lay still, cupped around his spent organ, strangely (*beautifully*) innocent in the way it helped shade his virtue from my gaze.   
  
I retrieved a handkerchief from the aged bedside table and gently, so gently, cleaned the white that spilled over his stomach. By the time I finished, the hitching sobs had slowed to deep, concentrated breaths, though the crystalline tears still flowed freely. I pulled out a second handkerchief, but before I could dry his face, his hand grasped mine. Fingers intertwined with mine and gripped, demanding to be held in return. The eyes I had avoided for so long finally found and locked on mine.   
  
My body ceased to exist, save for the hand that steadily gripped his and the lungs that inhaled his stormbreak scent so greedily. His eyes glowed behind the sheen of tears that were slowly restrained from falling. They held pain. Loneliness. Loss. Hope.  
  
It was the hope that scared me most. Hope was the one thing that would break him. His hope was the one thing that could save me.   
  
In that instant, we understood each other. What it was like to be pushed by fate to do what no one else could do, to acknowledge the practicality of what had to be done, and what it cost to be a daily reminder to those around us, and more importantly to ourselves, of what the we alternately failed and succeeded at. Two generations of Voldemort's reign, one a follower-turned-spy and the other an unwilling, innocent pawn. Both killers for the cause. Both lost without the cause.  
  
He had become my salvation, the last strand of reality in my slowly unweaving tapestry. I leaned down and pressed a light, chaste kiss to his lips. And when his lips parted beneath mine, I damned myself and sank into his mouth.  
  
Let me not have damned him as well. 


	4. In The Meantime

Author name: Lovecraft   
Author email: starlightstrands@hotmail.com  
Category: Slash: Severus/Harry  
Keywords: Lime, Smarm, Much cuddling and even more dragon facts.  
Rating: PG-16.  
Spoilers: None, really. Although it'd help to know the books, just for character reference. *rae*  
Summary: A late night study session.   
  
A/N: Brought to you by the letter "A" and the word "Slumps". =)  
  
Reference: All knowledge about the dragons was carefully reworded from Harry's "Fantastic Beasts & Where To Find Them" text book. I didn't plagiarize word for word but I did need the wording to be very close. ...Oh, come on! You *know* students don't usually bother learning something well enough to form an oral report in their own words. Harry's proving that he's read the material, remembers the material, but doesn't have a good enough memory to try for complete memorization. He's not creative enough or exact enough to have the text completely original or verbatim, but you can tell he's definitely trying.  
  
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters, but if I did, I could redefine the Gay Kama Sutra. I swear I could! Really! ...Even though I haven't shown it much in this particular series. *slumps over*  
  
Archive: Anyone who wants it can have it, so long as I'm informed and my email is listed somewhere.  
  
WARNING: Severe mood swing! This is FLUFF. Pure and simple! -- Dammit. I can never stay angsty for long. My odd sense of humor won't let me. On the plus side, this was meant to get the swarmy feelings out so the next chapter could be the gratuitous sex scene. On the minus side, that ain't gonna get posted on this site. Don't yell at me! It's not MY fault. *glares at the newest rules*  
  
Series: Needs Unmet  
  
~*~  
  
In The Meantime...  
  
~*~  
  
"Hm. Next shall be... dragons."  
  
I shift slightly and clench my hands tighter around soft, full robes. "Which one?"  
  
Long tapered fingers travel down my back. Muscles automatically relax under the ghost-touch. "All of them, Mr. Potter."  
  
I turn my face into his throat and nuzzle the pale skin. "Dragons come in ten species-"  
  
"Alphabetical order, if you please."   
  
I bite down gently. Now he's just being a pain. "The first of the species, *in alphabetical order*, is the Antipodean Opaleye. It's a medium sized dragon with iridescent scales and a bright red flame. It's not generally considered violent, rarely attacks men, and prefers eating sheep."   
  
Severus valiantly refrains from commenting on the last. I nuzzle his ear lightly.   
  
"And you've just lost two points, Mr. Potter. What do you think you've forgotten?"  
  
I frown and bump his chin with my cheek. Oh. "It hails from New Zealand, but can be found in Australia if it's home becomes endangered."   
  
I'm rewarded with the touch of his lips against my temple.   
  
"The next dragon is the Chinese Fireball, or Liondragon. Unlike the Opaleye, Fireballs prefer eating humans and pigs." Now it's my turn to restrain my tongue. It's a good thing Dudley never had his name picked out of the Golden Goblet. "They are the only dragons from the orient and are quite large. Their scales, like their eggs, are scarlet with touches of gold here and there." I pause a moment, there is something I'm forgetting. "Ah! And while they'll eat any person that wanders onto their land, they're less aggressive toward other dragons."  
  
"Excellent response." I smile into his shoulder, enjoying the soft thrum his body gives off when he speaks.   
  
"Thank you. Now, the Common Welsh Green is the most 'prominent' in our area of the world. They actively avoid humans, like the Opaleye, and prefer eating sheep. They prefer the upper mountain regions and there are reservations for them. They have what is considered a 'melodious' roar."  
  
I can feel his frown against my scalp. "Anything else?"  
  
"Not a lot of information on them in my books, surprisingly enough." I shrug.  
  
"Check the library on the Ilfracombe Incident for tomorrow."  
  
I nod carefully and bite back a yawn. It's always very difficult to not fall asleep during these sessions. Studying was never considered comforting until Severus started tutoring me. With his help, I can make up for the past couple months I spent ignoring my class work and pass my N.E.W.T.'s.  
  
"Hebridean Blacks are the more aggressive counterpart to the Common Welsh Greens. They are among the larger dragons at thirty feet and they require territory up to a hundred square miles per dragon. Their scales are rough, their eyes are purple, and they have large, bat-like wings. And they have barbed tails. They prefer eating deer, but have been known to carry off large dogs and the occasional cattle."   
  
"What wizarding clan is largely responsible for them?"  
  
"MacFusty."  
  
"Indeed." Light strokes against my spine. I've taken to wearing the lightest cotton shirts I have, no undershirt, just to better feel that touch.  
  
"And my personal favorite," perhaps I have been spending too much time around Severus. I'm not usually so good at 'dry deadpan'. "The Hungarian Horntail. Considered the nastiest of the dragons, they can breathe fire up to fifty feet, have hard, sharp protrusions on their tails, and enjoy eating human whenever possible. Their young are interesting in that they club their way of their cement-like shells with their tails."  
  
"You've studied this quite a bit, haven't you?"  
  
"With Hagrid's fascination with dragons? Of course. I do want to pass my N.E.W.T.'s, after all."  
  
His low chuckle warms and wakens me. I take a deep breath and try to recount what I've gone through and what's left. "Um, Pe- No, that's not it. Norbert! Yes." Again with the chuckle. I really enjoy Severus' laughter. "Norwegian Ridgebacks are like the Horntails, but instead of spikes on their tails, they have large protrusions down their backs. They are aggressive to their own kind, are the only dragons to eat water mammals as well as land, and they develop their fire-breathing abilities earlier than the others."  
  
"How early?"  
  
"Between one and three months, although Norbert managed to set Hagrid's beard on fire just after his hatching."  
  
"That was your first year, yes? I did wonder about that smell."  
  
"Severus, be nice."  
  
Fingers dig into sensitive flesh, leaving me twitching and giggling. "Me? Nice?"  
  
"Ah yes," I grin into his throat. "My mistake."  
  
"Hm. Continue."  
  
"The Peruvian Vipertooth is the smallest and swiftest of the dragons. About three of me in length," I earn a snicker and a promise of more tickles, "They are smooth scaled and copper-hued, with short horns and venomous fangs. The International Confederation of Wizards took it upon themselves to lower the Vipertooth's population during the late nineteenth century when the feeding habits of the Vipertooth took them from goats and cattle to human."  
  
"You'll probably want to study up on what else the International Confederation of Wizards decreed during that time period for Professor Binn's class."  
  
I nod and add another hour to my after-dinner activities in the library. "Okay. Although Madam Pince is starting to call me 'Mr. Granger' and Hermione is starting to look worried about my mental health. And red. Very, very red. I think Madam Pince has ideas about what Hermione and I are doing between the bookshelves."  
  
I almost miss the light strokes down my back in favor of the burst of laughter beneath me. I pull back and sit more firmly against his knees just so I can watch his face light up. As the unexpected laughter winds down, I become more aware of his hands curling at my hips and slowly sliding down the sides of my legs.   
  
Severus quirks a small but very real smile at me. "Thank you." For showing him how to laugh again? For being here with him? For holding him and being held in return? For being someone comforting and comfortable? For being needed and wanted in return?  
  
"And thank you." I lean just my head forward and kiss him. It's just a soft brush a lips, nothing as brash or hot as our first, but it is spectacular all the same. When I pull back, he's still smiling. I scoot against his body again and rest my head just above his heart. The strong beat brings a smile to my lips.  
  
"And next?"  
  
"The Romanian Longhorn. They have deep green scales and long golden horns they use to gore their prey before roasting and eating it. The horns are actually considered a Class B Tradable Material and can be very important in Potions work. ...I'll have to spend another hour in the library looking that one up, won't I?"  
  
Two arms wrapped around me firmly, but the voice was pitched low with amusement. "My personal library, yes. You can borrow the black book on the right end of the second shelf over my worktable. 'Brewing with Dragon'."  
  
"That sounds like some horrible cookbook from Malfoy Manor."   
  
"No, that's 'Grilling with Dragon, How To Make the Best of Your Insufferably Expensive Dining Habits'."  
  
"...Really?"  
  
A long-suffering sigh is my answer.  
  
I stifle a snicker and continue. "Longhorns are the most endangered of the dragons. They currently live only on a reservation where they are being put through an extensive breeding program. Numbers are low because of people poaching the dragons for their horns."  
  
"Now, Swedish Short-Snouts are known for their silver-blue scales and their blue flames. Their hides are sought after for protective gloves and shields and their flames are capable of rendering a person to ash in a matter of minutes. They prefer uninhabited mountainous regions for nesting."  
  
"And the last one for the night?"  
  
"Wait, you mean I'll be finished? Done? I can go to sleep after this?" I smile, a quick flash of teeth.  
  
"Do stop babbling, Mr. Potter. And yes, you can go to sleep after this. You have finished your assignments, you've studied perhaps longer than even Ms. Granger, and you have double Potions tomorrow, so I want you alive and cognizant to make sure Mr. Longbottom doesn't botch up the skele-Gro. The last thing Madam Pomfrey needs is a liquefying potion."  
  
"Huh. Skele-Gro uses a small piece of shell from a Fire Crab and a bit of dung from a Mooncalf, right?"  
  
For those who have never considered Severus Snape to be a soft or kind man, then it's quite obvious that they've never been on the receiving end of the smile that's currently being aimed at me. Not that the smile is any wider or his face is any more open, but his eyes are gleaming with approval and he fairly radiates a contentment I'd never seen in him before. He's actually proud of me. "Yes, that's exactly right. I'll be discussing it with your class tomorrow."  
  
I nod, reluctant to break the current good will in the atmosphere. "I look forward to it."  
  
"Hm." His smile lasts another moment, then he gently urges me back against his body. It's a cue to finish the lesson.  
  
"The Ukrainian Ironbelly is the largest of all dragons. They can get up to weights of six tonnes and can collapse buildings by simply landing on them. Their scales are grey and their eyes are red, but their talons are what people usually notice after their size, as their talons are long and vicious looking. They've been carefully watched by the Ukrainian wizarding officials ever since an Ironbelly carried off an empty sailing boat from the Black Sea in 1799."  
  
I trail off and simply bask in the warmth of Severus's embrace. Truthfully, I'm glad to be done studying for the night. I've been working my butt off trying to get to where I need to be in my studies and I'm rather tired of it. How Hermione ever managed to do this for seven years on end, I'll never know. But no matter how tired of the constant books, memorization, and recitation of facts, I can't help but look forward to the study sessions with Severus. Being with him calms me, listening to him read from a text entices me like Professor Binns could never do, and he looks... pleased when I manage to complete a complicated potion all on my own. Not that it ends up great, but it's definitely passable. Seeing that level of excitement from him is worth a great deal of study sessions.   
  
We slowly disengage from the embrace. I scoot back and carefully lower my feet down to the floor. I slowly unbend my knees and stand straight; Severus keeps his arms out to brace me in case my legs had fallen asleep. After the first few times of falling over, we've learned how to carefully get me back into an upright position. Once I feel firm on my feet, I grin and step back. Severus moves into the vacant spot with a liquid grace I still envy.   
  
We stand in front of each other, a thin line of space between us. I put my hands on his shoulders and lean up on my toes to kiss the corner of his mouth. Before I can pull back completely, he takes my hand and brings it up to his lips. The feel of his kiss against my inner wrist is a muted thrill. Even after he releases my hand, I can still feel his gentle touch.   
  
I let my eyes say what I'm not allowed to speak as a student. I love him, desire him, need him. He is slower to release the shields from his gaze, more timid in his unveiling, but he still grants me that small peek into his soul. I know how hard it must be to make himself vulnerable, but for me (for me!) it does it. For a brief moment, at least. I smile when his gaze goes back to mirrored blandness. His entire posture slumps minutely with relief. Not that he'd ever believe that he can slump.  
  
"Goodnight, Mr. Potter."  
  
"Goodnight, Severus."  
  
Even that causes my smile to widen. Both of our chosen titles were carefully planned. Severus had used his 'Mr. Potter' to distance us, to keep us from getting too close too quickly. The honorific title, something that he usually didn't use while yelling at me in class, somehow became endearing. The title had gradually become a bit of a tease from him, a smirk-inducing pet name of the most unexpected kind. So to tease back, I had taken to calling him by his given name. The first time I had used it, he had given me a nearly shocked look. Now, it simply deepens his contented smirk.  
  
"Thursday I need to work on my Transfigurations."  
  
His smirk disappears and I have to fight to keep from laughing.   
  
"I was thinking Hermione and I can work on it. She's an ace in Transfiguring. Anything that turns orange for her is supposed to be." I nod sagely.  
  
Severus scowls. "Indeed. Then I'll see you tomorrow for our study session, then again on Friday."  
  
I nod again and collect my scrolls, quill, ink, and books.  
  
"Goodnight, Sev."  
  
He pauses with his hand on the door. "Goodnight, Harry."  
  
I smile, hoping that it doesn't look as melancholy as I feel. Then the door opens and I slip outside, down the hall, and back to Gryffindor Tower.  
  
N.E.W.T.'s begin in two weeks. I can't wait. 


End file.
